A day in a hospital, building a bibliography of a self I never sought. Rereading old essays, I feel alienated now. Foreign to myself. I stumble over old familiar words I might once have used to describe myself. I’ve got all the old maps but haven’t any idea how to read them.

Have you heard of biopower? Foucault said it was about a system’s ability to hold power over bodies, and it’s often rooted in biology and medicine. How strange to feel so solidified by diagnosis, compelled both to reject and to cherish that prefabricated identity. To be recognized and to be contained, all at once. There: a mitosis of the self.

So much of what I think about these days is identity, and how to articulate it. There’s something about coming out to someone that feels so permanent—and it is. Whatever the identity you need to declare, whatever the news you need to break, while you’re speaking, you can see gears turning. No matter how many thousands of interactions you’ve shared, or how many years you’ve known one another, you can see yourself change, irrevocably, in someone’s eyes. I came out to someone this week and was so grateful for his reaction: a steady nod and an unbroken gaze. Presence and engagement. What a simple thing, to be so kind. What a fraught moment to anticipate.

Popularity: 1% [?]